


Mrs Fluffybottom

by RandomSlasher (Randomslasher)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:03:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomslasher/pseuds/RandomSlasher
Summary: Virgil accidentally destroys Roman's beloved doll, and does his best to make it up to him.





	Mrs Fluffybottom

The absolute worst part about the whole mess was that Princey hadn’t even been _angry_. 

Anger, Virgil could’ve handled. If Roman had yelled, or raged at him, or otherwise reacted in the way Virgil had feared, he would at least have been expecting it. It would have made _sense_. Especially after all the pomp and circumstance with which he’d loaned the doll to Virgil in the first place--and the solemn promise he’d extracted from Virgil to take care good of her.   


Not that he’d done it on purpose, of course. He was just...Anxiety. Ruining things was what he _did_. 

All of which he’d tried to tell to Roman, when he’d brought him the ruined mess that had once been his beloved stuffed rabbit. He’d babbled his explanation--how he’d nodded off and knocked over the coffee cup and the lid had popped free and the drink had spilled; how he’d stupidly (stupidstupid oh god why was he so _stupid_ ) thought he could remove the stains by running the doll through the washing machine. How he’d selected the gentle cycle and had used color safe _everything_  but it hadn’t been enough, because the doll was old, and the cotton she was made out of was thin, and it had torn in several places, and the stuffing inside had gotten twisted and lumpy, and she wasn’t a doll anymore but a misshapen _thing_  in a coffee-stained dress and Virgil was sorry, he was so sorry, he would never ask to borrow anything of Roman’s ever again, _ever,_  and--

And Roman had cut him off. He’d taken the sad wet lump of _nothing_  that had once been his beloved doll, and his he’d swallowed, and his _eyes_ \--they’d gotten shiny and he’d drawn a shaky breath and Anxiety had braced himself, ready for it, ready for whatever Roman wanted to throw at him, and then...

And then Roman had given him a tight smile, and squeezed his shoulder, and said not to worry, accidents happened, and of course Virgil hadn’t done it on purpose. And then he’d turned and disappeared into his realm, the sad, sodden thing cradled in his arms like a drowned child. 

Guilt and shame clawed with sharp talons at Virgil’s breast, and he felt the fluttery, furious beat of panic’s wings battering his ribcage. But he forced them under control, stuffing them deep down inside. He was--he was _not_  going to be useless this time. For once in his goddamned life, he was going to _fix_  something he’d ruined. 

He retreated to his realm and set to work. Creativity was not an entirely unknown entity to him, but he quickly learned that his particular brand of it was not the greatest for creating anything other than fear. His first effort was...well, less than good. The shape was close to right, but the fabric was mottled and charred, and there was no face at all. 

He scowled at it and scrapped his efforts, then tried again. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it _right_. Time after time, failed effort after failed effort--they all came out twisted and malformed, mottled and ugly. Virgil’s head began to pound, a splitting headache developing behind his left eye as he focused his energy, _hard._

 _This time_ , he thought, and poured all of himself into the effort, feeling the thing taking shape between his hands and he focused, concentrating, straining-- _almost_... _almost..._

A sharp stab of pain lanced through his brain, and he cried out, dropping the newly-created doll and reaching up to cradle his head between his hands. Tears leaked out between his clenched lids, and he huddled into himself, hunching against the agony. 

Blessedly, the horrific pain faded quickly back to a dull ache, and after several long moments he blinked, his blurred vision coming into focus once more. 

Lying face-down beside him was...something. It had the shape of a bunny--sort of. The ears were a little off, sort of lopsided and ragged, and there was a pair of protrusions between them, like the aborted growths of an extra pair of ears, but...but they were short, and maybe he could cut them off without destroying the rest of the doll...? 

But when he picked it up and flipped it over, he immediately cried out, fighting the urge to fling the thing away from himself.

Far from being the sweet smiling creature Mrs Fluffybottom had been, this doll was snarling. Its painted-on face featured an open mouth with sharp teeth, its nose crinkled and eyes slanted and black. Two tiny red dots of pupils gazed evilly back up at him, and the protrusion he’d thought was a second pair of ears was actually a pair of twisted, demonic horns. 

The rest was no better. The cotton of the rabbit’s body wasn’t the pleasant pale mottled brown of the original--instead, it was a dull no-color, like dust and rot. The dress was in tatters, rags that were stained with dark patches of something Virgil didn’t want to think about. And each paw ended with four tiny cloth claws, each tipped in vivid red paint. 

In short, it was the antithesis of Mrs Fluffybottom, twisted and frightening and evil, and...and...

And it had been the best he could do. All his efforts, all his energy, and this--this was the sum total of what he could make. What he could create. 

Virgil slumped, tears starting as he stared at the abomination. He let it fall from his trembling fingers, then sat on the floor in front of his bed and drew his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them and hid his face, weeping quietly. 

It was there Prince found him, some time later. 

“Virgil! Are you in there? I wanted to show y--Verge?” 

Virgil jumped, startled, looking up sharply--had he nodded off? He must have--and seeing Roman standing in the doorway, eyes wide, one hand behind his back. He realized abruptly that Roman was looking at the twisted _thing_  that Virgil had made, and he scrambled to grab it and stuff it behind his back, hiding it from sight. 

“What...what is that?” Roman said, moving into the room and kneeling in front of Virgil.   


“Noth-nothing,” Virgil said, scrubbing at his face, trying to wipe away the trails his tears had made in his make-up. “S-sorry.”   


“No--please. May I...?” He reached out with his free hand, pointing behind Virgil’s back.   


“I...it’s not...”  


“Show me.”   


Virgil hesitated, then slumped, drawing the horrific thing out from behind himself. He watched, ashamed, as Roman set something aside and took the abomination Virgil had created in his hands. He studied its face, its tattered and stained dress, its tiny claws. 

“Did you make this?” he breathed, reaching up and trailing his hand over the snarling cotton face. 

“I’m...I’m sorry,” Virgil whispered, ashamed, hugging himself and looking down as his vision blurred with new tears. “I just...I just wanted to...”   


“It’s _amazing,”_ Roman said. 

Virgil looked up sharply, hunching in on himself, certain at first that Roman was making fun of him. But no--Roman’s face was alight with genuine awe, smiling broadly as he examined the hideous thing. 

Virgil frowned. “Amazing?” he repeated dubiously. “You can’t...you can’t be serious.” Unless Roman meant amazingly _bad_ , of course, but otherwise...

“Look at this _detail!”_ Roman cried, looking up at him with a broad, beaming smile. “The claws--they’re so delicate, but so vicious! And that face--that’s not the face of a bunny I’d want to cross. And the way you did the tatters on the dress! Very aesthetic, but nothing that will threaten the structural integrity of the garment itself. And these little horns!” He touched then, then beamed. “They mirror the ears perfectly. Virgil, I had no idea you could do this!” 

Virgil stared at him, torn between a hesitant sort of almost-pride, and utter bewilderment. “But...but it’s...it’s _ugly_ ,” he said, looking back down at the bunny, trying to see it with Roman’s eyes. 

“Ugly?” Roman sounded equally bewildered, squinting at the rabbit and tilting his head. “I don’t see it,” he said at last. “It’s _fierce_ , for sure. Frightening, yes. It evokes emotion quite effectively. But ugly?” He shook his head. “No. I don’t see it, Virgil. I’m sorry.”   


“It...it wasn’t... _supposed_  to look like this, though,” Virgil said, quashing the weird little flicker of hope that Roman’s words had sparked in him. ( _He likes it?)_

“Eh, that happens all the time,” Roman said with a shrug. “I set out to create one thing, but end up with something else. That doesn’t make it _bad_ , though,” he said. “That’s just part of creativity. It’s fluid.”   


“I was trying to make a new Mrs Fluffybottom for you,” Virgil admitted, taking the evil rabbit from Roman’s hands. “Since...since I ruined your original.” 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Roman reached behind him and pulled out the thing he’d been carrying behind his back--what turned out to be Mrs Fluffybottom herself, whole and undamaged and perfect. Roman grinned and shrugged. “I came here to tell you not to worry about it. See? Good as new.”   


Which, of course. Why the hell hadn’t he realized that Roman would be able to fix her? He was _creativity_. He’d made her in the first place; of _course_ he could make her again. Virgil sighed softly, relief tempered with disappointment, though he wasn’t sure _why_. So he’d ruined something, and someone else had fixed it--that was the way things usually went, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t have ever assumed it could be otherwise.

“Well,” he said quietly, gazing down at his horrible creation, “I’m...still really sorry I messed her up in the first place.” Then, so softly it was almost a whisper: “And...I’m sorry I couldn’t...fix her for you.”  


Roman was silent for a moment, and Virgil closed his eyes, hugging the awful thing to his chest. Then Roman spoke: “Virgil. Would you be interested in trading?” 

Virgil opened his eyes and looked up at Roman. “What?” 

“Trading,” Roman said. He was holding Mrs Fluffybottom in his hand, offering her to Virgil. “Mine for yours. Are you interested?”   


“You...you _want_...?” Virgil looked down at the toy in his arms, frowning.   


“I do,” Roman said, and his voice was very serious, not a hint of mockery or scorn. Or pity, which would have been a thousand times worse. “I think it’s amazing, Virgil. Moreso because _you’re_  the one who made it. I’d feel supremely safe with her--is it a her?” At Virgil’s shrug and nod, Roman nodded back. “I’d love to have her looking out for me. No foe would dare attack with her at my side!” He smiled gently at Virgil, arching his eyebrows. “So? What of it?”   


“I...but...but you _love_...” Virgil choked a little, and had to pause again, blinking rapidly.   


“I do,” Roman agreed softly. “But I know you’ll take care of her for me.”   


“How can you _say_  that?” Virgil said. “After...after what happened...?”   


“That was an accident,” Roman said. “And you still took care of her, didn’t you? You brought her to me, and I fixed her. You owned up to your mistake because you wanted her to be okay, even if it meant you got in trouble. I can’t think of anyone I’d trust with her more.”   


Virgil stared at Roman, then down at the rabbit in Roman’s arms. “Oh,” he whispered. 

“So. Trade?”   


Virgil swallowed, and nodded, and Roman took the terrifying doll reverently from his hands, before placing Mrs Fluffybottom in Virgil’s arms. Virgil took her, tracing her softly smiling face. Roman settled on the floor beside him, leaning back against Virgil’s bed and wrapping his arm over Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil sighed, leaning in against Roman and resting his head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.   


Roman squeezed him in response, planting a brief kiss on the top of his head. “Now,” he said, “we must arrange a playdate. How does tomorrow morning sound? Maybe Mrs Fluffybottom can get kidnapped and my new bunny can come and rescue her. What should we name her? It should be something to strike fear in the hearts of her enemies. Maybe Mrs Fancyfangs?”

Virgil laughed, blinking away a few fresh tears, and turned to hug Roman hard. “Yeah, Ro,” he murmured. “Mrs Fancyfangs.” 

* 


End file.
